I was away nice and early this time with easy access to my stuff. Back up the hill I had come down the night before, I heard the sound of motorbikes on the switchbacks below. I had stopped for a drink and waved at the two Belgians who came past they were the first two bikers who I had seen any distance from the port. A little later I caught up with them and we had a chat. They had done a lot of the things I wanted to do and it was interesting to chat.

Again, I was on the tiny roads where you barely saw a vehicle and when you did it was something like a Renault 12, the car that heralded the fashion disaster that was the 1980s. Most of these 12's steered like they'd had their differentials welded up, making the moves of a bumper car look graceful. What was surprising was how slow these vehicles moved, but I guess you don't get a car to 30 years old by jamming it in every pot hole you find!

I wasn't expecting that!

So on we went, reaching over 2000 metres up and then the road disintegrated. I came to a junction where I could go left onto my first piste proper which would take me up to 2400 metres or go right back down into the valley and firm tarmac. It was up then! Past snow drifts and even the odd Sheppard, we finally got to the top. There was quite some view from the top and in the valley below I could see some nice black top. This had been a great idea.

I began to make better time on the less mountainous territory, through little towns and into much more arid country. I filled up with fuel in Missour and considered my next move. I needed to cross the plateau in front of me to reach somewhere close to my destination. I was making headways into the problems with my sat nav but hadn't quite got it sorted, so rather than use a route explained in the guide book, I would head down the road that was marked on the map but reported to be not there.

Unsurprisingly then, I ended up on a piste which had seen few vehicles on it. To make matters worse, it followed a diverted route, so neither map nor sat nav were helping much. It was a matter of getting a feel for it. We pottered along at 25kph for some time, but things were, including me, getting rattled about terribly.

In a dried up oued we had our first crash, as I failed to get myself ready for some big stones. Later on the sat nav came to life as we joined the route I had planned. Then we went over again because of over confidence. The rocky road went on and on, the mountains on the other side got closer at a painfully slow rate. Then I saw my first camel, things were looking up. It was only from a great distance, but it was certainly a first, then a whole flock of camels.

Every now and again I would come across a nomads tent and I got the impression that they didn't really know what to make of me. A bit later we had a red light for overhead, Betty’s fan had not come on I stopped to check the electrics but everything was ok that I could see. I will have to look at that closer before another trip away from the road. Two hours later and just 50 km on we climbed back onto the black top.

On the piste and a long way from anywhere

Within an hour I was in Ben Tajjite and whilst refuelling I was introduced to Mustapha who owned a guest house. I had a look, it was rather grand but I thought I'd like a nice stop off so I ordered a Tajine and ended up chatting all night to Mustapha, his friend Mousine who did a lot of translating and who also told me a lot about the trees in the area. Things got late and I offed to bed. It is so hot!